beat the same
by emilyforprez
Summary: any and all attack the block drabbles i write, mostly for the fic meme on lj
1. color and light

**A/N:** this movie is the worst (((by that i mean it's obviously the best go watch it)))

* * *

><p>It's really fucking cold. Moses has like, sixty layers of clothes on, and it's still too cold. No one likes the winter here, but no one ever leaves, and everyone just complains about it when it's here and dreads it when it's gone.<p>

On New Years Eve, there's some tradition that requires everyone grumbling about the weather to still make the long journey out to the park to watch the fireworks. It's not snowing yet, but it's just cold enough that people are starting to think it might, and Pest is the only one willing to trudge out into the weather with Moses. Pest doesn't seem to ever have anything better to do than run around with him, anyways.

"What's the plan tonight, bruv?"

Moses can see his breath billowing out in front of him and he tightens the scarf around his neck. "Fireworks."

"That's it?" Pest's voice is taking on the retarded whining tone that he does when he's bored, and Moses honestly thinks he's fucking stupid. He wonders why he hangs out with him.

"Yeah, _that's it_, 'less you wanna go home to your nan."

Pest huffs, shaking his head. "Rubbish, jus' too fucking told out here, s'all." Moses snorts and Pest continues, "Got any skins?"

Moses shakes his head and Pest sighs exasperatedly, that kind of nasally, scratchy sigh that he does that Moses fucking hates. It sounds like it's coming from deep in his throat or like he's trying to make it sound deeper than it is. Pest is always trying to impress everyone, due to being the size of a miniature poodle and with a voice high-pitched enough to match.

Honestly, he's such an idiot, it's astounding, and Moses has half a mind to tell him to run back home to his nan and leave him alone. (He doesn't, but he entertains the thought.)

By the time they reach the park, the fireworks have been cracking for several minutes. Moses abandons his bike behind a bench and settles with his back against the trunk of an oak, its branches stripped bare and black, the soil around it cold and crunching like snow. Pest doesn't say a thing, but he sits next to him and stretches his legs; next to Moses, he's so small and fragile that it's almost pathetic.

"Where's Biggz?"

Moses snorts, doesn't focus on the warmth of Pest's body beside his. "Home with his mum, watching holiday movies on the sofa, trust."

Pest laughs loud and obnoxious. "'Course he is."

Moses steals a side glance at Pest. The fireworks have been exploding for almost an hour, and the air is kind of smoky and dark, red and blue light all over Pest's pale face. Moses doesn't hate hanging out with him. He doesn't really hate him, not at all.

"Don't you gay me, bruv," Pest says, so soft and low that Moses barely hears him past the exploding color and light above them.

And he remembers: room 191, no one around, just them, just Pest and Moses, like it's the easiest thing in the world. His real name is something dumb like Jonathan or Jacob but no one calls him that, he hates it. The room was dank and flooded with the smell of weed and booze and Pest kisses him slow, soft, teasing, his hands cold and the mattress creaking on rusty springs. No one talks about it, no one says a thing, like no one calls him Jonathan or Jacob and no one asks Moses why nobody's ever home at his place.

"Gay you?" He scoffs angrily and they still don't talk about it. They don't talk about the way the color reminds them of chapped red lips and bruises turning black and blue. It's dumb that no one can say what they mean. No one can talk about anything without being afraid, so afraid.

Pest looks at him, sideways, and the color is still there, and they don't move a muscle. Moses hates him a little, hates him a lot, actually, all the time. Pest has the worst laugh and the most retarded smile and he talks like he has a bunch of food in his mouth. Dumb. Fucking stupid.

But Moses still smiles and they still don't talk about anything that matters. Just the color and the light and god, it's so fucking cold.


	2. ghosts i've touched

Pest thinks about it a lot. What it would've been like if he had died in place of Dennis, in place of Jerome. If he had died along with them, even, leaving Moses alone with Biggz, sitting in Ron's weed room deliberately not talking about the empty spaces on the floor.

He bets Moses thinks about it too. That's probably why he's gotten so quiet all of a sudden, staring off at a distant spot in the wall. Thinking. Tragically analyzing every frame of memory.

"If I had just been one step closer..." Moses sometimes says, and he never finishes the sentence.

Pest sits beside him, and they don't talk about the last time they were here, _Moses versus the monsters._Not talking about it makes it feel like a dream. They don't have to even accept the reality that Jerome won't come in whining about his sisters, and Dennis won't show up grumbling about his dad being a cunt. And Biggz. Biggz still sits at home, listening to Dennis' voicemail over and over again. He doesn't even talk anymore.

Moses shifts uncomfortably next to Pest, who had started to doze off with the cigarette still fitted between his fingers. "Hey, cuz."

"Mm?"

"When do you think we'll move on?"

Pest thinks about it for a moment. "Don't think we ever will, bruv, trust."

Moses laughs, hollow and fake. "Believe." His voice is taking on the tone it does when he's heavy in thought, as if the bodies and their blood don't ever leave from behind his eyes. Maybe he still hears Jerome's screams when he's alone, or sees the look in Dennis' eyes right before his throat was ripped out.

Pest doesn't remember details. His nan sent him to a therapist, which did fuck all for him. Now he can barely talk about it without his throat closing up.

Subconsciously, he touches the scar on his leg, where the bitemarks haven't disappeared. He presses until it hurts, blinds him with pain, and takes in a shuddering breath. The doctors say it will never heal. He'll walk with a perpetual limp for the rest of his life.

"It's a bit rubbish, innit," he thinks aloud, "but you ever think, if it had been you instead?"

Moses looks at him, looks right through him, to a memory that hasn't left his eyes. "All the time, cuz."

"I wish it had been me," Pest says, in a way he doesn't really mean. He doesn't look Moses in the eye, but he gently touches the ripped skin just above Moses' left eye. Another wound that won't heal all the way.

Moses is so close that Pest can feel the heat from his breath. "Don't you be saying shit like that, man."

And that's what it is.

They feel guilty, both of them, because while Biggz can barely move out of the grief that seizes him, there's that unmistakable, sick sense of relief. Maybe that's why Moses can't stop thinking about it, or why Pest still wakes in cold sweats from nightmares. Like they're being punished.

The truth is that if it had been Pest that died instead, Moses wouldn't have made it. He would've stopped to grieve. He would've made the mistake of not moving on. He'd have been killed.

And if Moses had died - if Pest had to watch Moses breathe his last breath, if he had to watch him choke on the blood bubbling out of his mouth - he thinks he'd have been Biggz. Calling his voicemail and never leaving his room, turning pale and wan with sickness and making that mistake of never moving on. He would have lived in the memory forever.

Pest doesn't look quite at Moses but they're both thinking the same thing, hating themselves for thinking it, and the sound of their silence fills the empty room.


	3. salt skin

Moses keeps pushing his tongue against his cheek, tasting salt and something else on the inside of his mouth. Biggz left almost an hour ago, grumbling about his mum and overbearing parents. Moses wonders what it's like to have an overbearing parent.

Pest nudges his foot with his heel, slumped against his shoulder.

"Where's your uncle?" The words are low and whispered, like they weren't meant for anyone else. Pest has a way of doing that. Asking dumb questions with even dumber answers, making them sound like secrets.

Moses inhales a flood of secondhand smoke. "Where you think, bruv?" Sometimes he comes by, old and ragged and reeking of meth, eyes wild and angry and hurling insults indiscriminately. Moses wishes he'd go for good, leave and never come back, end up dead in a crack den somewhere far away.

Pest says nothing. His mum died when he was a baby, and his nan is the only one left. Moses doesn't pity him. He's got someone waiting up for him at home.

"Sorry, blud." Pest exhales a cloud of dark smoke, his eyes turning red and glassy. "Shit, I love Ron's weed."

Moses manages a smile. "Best out there, trust."

"Trust," Pest echoes, slurring the single syllable. He's been heavy on Moses' side for a couple hours, and by now his arm is numb and prickling. Moses doesn't move at all.

"Your nan doesn't want you home?"

Pest smiles big and wide. "Tryin' to get rid of me, yeah?"

"Always." Moses leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. "But you never leave." Pest stays at his place more than any of the others, popping up in the middle of the night or early in the morning, sleeping on the floor, the dirty couch. His nan always forgets he's gone.

Maybe that's worse than having no one. Moses wonders what it would be like if his dad was still alive but couldn't remember his name.

Pest shifts to face him. "Quit being a cunt, alright," he says, face too close and eyes too big, pupils dilated. "Tell me to fuck right off, and I will."

Moses doesn't really consider it. "You're good, bruv." He smells the salt off Pest's breath; it hits inside of his cheek, his tongue. He doesn't even think about it. He closes the hairbreadth of space and steals the puff of smoke from Pest's mouth, and his eyes are still closed, his skin too hot.

He swallows a sound from the back of Pest's throat. He doesn't kiss girls like this, never has, always thinking too small, too big, too messy. He can taste the salt on Pest's lips. He wonders why he always could.

"You gay, man?" Pest whispers it like a secret, and his chest is rapidly rising and falling, his eyes still too wide, his skin flushed red.

Moses shakes his head. "No."

The mattress whines softly on its worn springs.


	4. lesson

Pest still feels Jerome's hand clutching his leg, still sees the blood dribbling down his chin as he screams for help, and Pest can't do anything about it. He just sees it.

It's a bit unfair, really, that he has to live with that for the rest of his life, along with an ever-present limp and a scar.

He says to Jerome's sisters, "I watched him die," and they don't even care about that part.

They scream, "Monsters! All of you! I knew my brother shouldn't have been hanging around you lot!"

And look, and look, and _look where it got him._

Screaming out for help as the blood rises like bile in his throat.

...

"You promised me you wouldn't be getting into mischief."

"I know, nan."

Her rattling breath shakes the air. "What do you have to say, young man?"

"I'm sorry, nan." Jerome's bloodshot eyes, his desperate hands clawing at Pest's legs. Help. Help. _Help._

"I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Yes, nan."

He'll never be rid of the screams.

...

Moses barely speaks anymore, a shell of the boy he was, staring at what he's done. Pest reckons they all brought it upon themselves. Actions and their consequences. They try not to look at each other for too long, afraid of what they other is thinking.

"You told his sisters, yeah?"

Pest dutifully avoids his gaze. "Yeah."

"Good."

They try not to think about anything, but they think about everything, remember the details they try so desperately to bury. But memories last a long time, and they didn't disappear along with Jerome's body beneath the earth.

Pest doesn't visit the grave.

...

They ask him to describe what happened. Tell us, young man, what was it like watching everyone die? He says he doesn't know, he doesn't remember. It happened too fast (a truth).

And what did Jerome say to you when he died?

Pest doesn't have the right words for the lie. He doesn't know how to tell them what they want to hear. He asked me for help. He choked on his last words, you see, choked on his own blood as the monster dragged him away from me. He gripped my leg and screamed and I, and I, and I...

Pest doesn't say a word.


	5. voicemail

Oi, Dennis, it's Biggz, man. You'd never believe what just happened. You know those little shits, er - Probs and Mayhem, yeah? Saved my ass back there. I reckon I'd be dead if not for them. Crazy.

Listen, I don't know if you've lost your mobile or something, but I'm heading over there now, trust. I'll be right there.

...

Hey, where the fuck are you, cuz? I couldn't find you in the crowd. It's all rubbish, innit, them haulin' away Pest and Moses like that. I'm reckonin' you did lose your mobile, but if you get this, meet me by the gym. We're the last two free men left.

...

You left your sweater at my flat.

...

Pest and Moses get out in a few days. They got that nurse to testify for them or somethin' - all I know is they're out, and they might help me - you know, get over this shit.

Man, I really hope you get this.

...

Cuz, I'm thinkin' your sisters don't want me around no more. They kicked me out, see, proper mad. They don't want me there when they bury you.

...

Oi, Dennis? I'm keeping that sweater.

...

I reckon I should be sayin' somethin' but I can't think of anything to say. Moses says he still sees your face before they got you. Ripped out your throat, innit. I don't even wanna talk about it, think about it, shit. I'd never get that out of my head, believe.

I hope they never turn your phone off, cuz.

I'm thinkin' I'll burn that sweater.


	6. night marry you

His parents die when he's young, a car accident in between reruns of Spongebob when he's up too late and can't sleep. Something like a car on the wrong lane or ice on the roads or brakes that stop working. He never asks, and no one ever tells him.

They ship him off to his nan in South London, and she's old and faded but still smiles wide when she sees him and calls him by his name. Jacob Harris. Jakie, sometimes, if she's feeling nostalgic.

The bath water runs cold, his sweater still smells like his mum's perfume, and he remembers the scratchy feel of dad's almost-beard against his cheek.

…

Moses has a real name. Jacob Harris doesn't know it. Jacob Harris is short and scrawny and whiter than a ghost, and the teachers hardly ever see him, sinking into his desk, not wanting to be seen. But Moses is kind of just there. The teachers notice him the most. They whisper behind corners and give him looks full of premonition and worry, and they don't ever say his real name.

"Hey."

Moses doesn't even look twice. "What?"

Jacob Harris has a voice that trembles and shakes like a scared animal. "We live in the same block, yeah?"

"I guess so." And Moses notices him, just for that moment.

…

Moses is the kind of angry that his nan warns him to stay away from, that his mum used to whisper to him about when he wobbled around on stubby feet. Moses is the kind of angry that worries everyone. Angry at everything, so he takes it out on everyone.

Jacob Harris is just a day over 11 when Moses tells him, "You're such a fucking pest," and blows him off with a smoke ring in his face. He turns and then stops, looks back, gives Jacob Harris the biggest smile known to man, and says, "Just a pest."

No one ever calls him anything different. Moses claps him twice on the back and turns soft with fondness and they never look back again.

…

Pest's mum and dad died in January, just after the new year began. Moses says his mum died a month before, that his dad never gave a shit, and they sit in room 191 and stay angry at everyone, grow angry at everything, take out their anger on each other when the first time Moses ever tells him, "Hit me."

And Pest does.

"Hit me again."

…

"Where's your uncle?"

Moses deftly turns away. "Go home to your nan."

Pest doesn't understand anything, feels like he understands everything. His voice is loud and obnoxious and angry when he says, "There ain't shit for me at home."

Moses doesn't laugh. "Ain't shit for you here either."

But he stays, and Moses doesn't stop him, and they sit with their thighs barely touching on his couch, watching a film they've seen a million times but never really understood. Pest is twelve when he thinks about kissing another boy, and the secret never leaves room 191, stays forever stained in the walls, imprinted on the ceiling, trapped without an escape.

…

Pest's nan doesn't call him Jacob anymore, can't remember she has a grandson named Jakie at all, and when he leaves she tells him, "Tell Roger to feed the cats for me," and Pest doesn't tell her that grandpa died years ago and the cats have long since scattered. He kisses her on the forehead and mumbles that he will and she sighs against him, saying he's a good boy, a good young man, who takes care of his mother so well.

…

It becomes easy. A cycle.

Biggz and Dennis and Jerome come later, but in the beginning, it's just Moses and Pest, nicking candies off the shelf and grinning at each other around mouthfuls of chocolate.

He becomes loud because no one will hear him if he stays bottled up. Moses becomes strong because no one will fear him if he's weak. They abandon the chocolate for old women shuffling with too-big purses, and promises of harm if they resist, and money that pays for the bills and the food with guilt that stays warm on their lips even after they swallow their dinners.

They don't speak at all, but Moses slides across the couch and covers Pest's hand with his own and they both hate each other and themselves but they don't admit it out loud. They just breathe, and the secret never touches Pest's lips.

…

Jerome is short and pudgy with glasses the slide all the way down his nose. He makes them laugh and he doesn't need the money like they do, but he never says a word when they take it all for themselves, with a grin that trembles like he's glad they call him by a name, any name, as long as they don't ignore him. Biggz has shoes two sizes too big and thin arms, and his mum calls him ever four minutes, but Pest likes having someone around who's more awkward than he is.

And Dennis comes later, much later, in a flurry of anger that cuts through Pest like a hot knife, and he never smiles the way Moses learned how to. There's something dark and sad in him and no one ever talks about it, but he has a face like trusting and a heart they can see, and when they're sitting in room 191, Dennis doesn't say a word about the way Pest looks at Moses when he's not paying attention.

…

"Ever wish your dad hadn't fucked off?" Pest leans forward on rocky knees, a smile too big for his face.

Moses blows smoke in his face. "Nah."

"Never?"

"Never." Moses leans forward to catch the smoke in Pest's breath, and he smells like spearmint gum and something cold and bitter like alcohol. "Ever wish your mum and dad hadn't —"

He doesn't finish the sentence because Pest slumps backwards and leans against the wall for support with a thud. "You okay?"

"Nope." He laughs.

Moses shakes his head. "If my dad hadn't fucked off, where'd we be, cuz?"

Pest would probably be at home, wearing a school uniform that fit him in all the wrong ways, without never knowing the feeling of smoking himself into that sweet place of no feeling. He'd be somewhere up north with his mum and dad making tea in the other room and Moses would never have given him his name.

"Nowhere." The realization hits him hard, or maybe he's just too fucking high.

Moses nods a little, and Pest is fourteen when he thinks about kissing a boy again, and he doesn't really hate himself at all.


	7. i was a cage

He doesn't really think of it (until Pest), the way another boy's skin might feel pressed flush against his (until until _until_), the way callouses and course hands and — the way it'd feel to (until until) — push another boy down, down, down, the bed creaking soft and whining thin and high, protesting angrily, and the way (until Pest, until _that_) it'd feel to —

(Until, until, he's thirteen and Pest is paler than a sheet and he's small and skinny and quiet, and he gets loud when he's angry and angry when he's loud, and he grins wider than his face can handle, splitting his skull in two.)

And they're fifteen, and Pest's fingernails make half-moon marks indented into the nape of Moses's neck, and he breathes low and soft and urgent and whispers, "Look at me," and Moses is too scared, and the kisses are closed-mouth and taste like secrets and the night is young and they feel too old to be such children.

(Until, _until_, until — Pest makes the world turn again.)

…

His uncle comes home and whispers, "Faggot," into his sleeping ears, and mutters _faggot_ into the air and everything feels like he's just been marked with a name that isn't his. The walls stained with _faggot_. His mouth tastes like — (againmoreshitfuckdon'tstop_Pest_) — _faggot._

His teeth are made of bone and his uncle punches him in the mouth, warm, sweet blood spilling from his lips, metallic and salty on his tongue, and he punches back until he can feel the bone crushing beneath his fists and he laughs loud and obnoxious and hateful and his uncle says he ain't coming back this time.

The echoes of the word (_faggot faggot faggot_) still bounce off the walls a million times and Pest tsks and shakes his head and tells him, "Moses, bruv, you can't control your temper worth shit, man."

And Moses doesn't know how to speak anymore so he touches him instead and there's a gasp of air in between them and the word that hangs still and silent and meaning something special and different and bitter.

(Until — and Pest breathes a word, a _please_, a _promise_ — until Moses pushes him down [down, down] onto the bed and —)

(_Faggot_) — when Pest traces the curve of his collarbone and his breath is hot against the taut skin —

— and Moses kisses him open-mouthed and (_faggot_) his hand dips beneath Pest's trousers and curves around —

Pest swears and his head falls back onto the bed that creaks and whines and Moses doesn't remember ever touching a girl like he touches another boy, and maybe it says something about him. Maybe —

(_FAGGOT_)

…

(Down, down, down.)

Pest stares right up at him and everything else is white noise.


End file.
